


Faith In Other Things

by mishabutts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishabutts/pseuds/mishabutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I favour the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who died in a bathtub in 1953.</i>
</p><p>Castiel's faith is strong, though some people would say it is... misdirected. Castiel would say they've never met Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith In Other Things

The man in the trenchcoat stands unmoving in the meadow. An ocean of grass surrounds him, individual blades rippling together to form waves in the soft afternoon breeze. His head is tilted to the sky, almost searchingly, but his eyes are closed and his gentle features are cold, oblivious to the heat of the glaring sun. He is not searching. Not anymore.

There is a kite somewhere in the distance brushing occasionally against a single low-hanging cloud. He can hear it, the quiet scratch of tattered cloth grazing the delicate cotton. This meadow has cotton clouds. The corners of his mouth turn upwards ever so slightly, a sad imitation of a smile. The cotton clouds are his favourite part.

He knows his search was futile from the beginning. He knows this now but he wishes that this particular revelation had come earlier. His eyes open in a squint and he turns his head to watch the kite and its lively dance as it twirls away from the cloud, and the cloud from it, the space stretching so vastly between them that it seems unlikely they’ll ever meet again. 

He has no more faith left for his Father, who has long since departed or has perhaps never been at all, but he does have faith in other things. In the steady roar of the ’67 Chevy Impala because it is the sound of two boys and the lives they save. In the unbridled love for family, blood or not, because that’s what’s important. In the clinking of beer bottles because it means _we’re good, Cas, it’s finally over_.

And above all he has faith in Dean Winchester, not in the choices he makes or the path he may walk, but in the subtle crinkle of smiling green eyes because even after everything that never goes away. In the light-hearted chuckles after sarcastic taunts because that means you’re forgiven and will be next time too. In the relief on his face when he knows you’re okay because actually it’s just really nice if someone cares. 

Dean cares completely and unequivocally, and most of the time, accidentally. That is why Castiel must let him go. This war in Heaven he must handle without the aid of his Father who would not willingly offer help and without the aid of Dean who would willingly give too much. It is Castiel’s turn to care.

He breathes out a small puff of air, tightens his fist, and lets his eyes slip closed again in one last moment of quiet contemplation. 

The angel in the trenchcoat, more broken than his cold demeanour would suggest, stands unmoving in the meadow. The small, shoddy kite is buffeted by the afternoon wind, no cotton cloud in sight to help soothe its frantic movements.


End file.
